


The Day of the Wolves

by PengyChan



Category: Gabriel Knight
Genre: M/M, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 04:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/879565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PengyChan/pseuds/PengyChan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ludwig is deemed insane and sent to Starnberg Lake, von Glower makes an extreme attempt at reaching him and convincing him to flee with him. Things don't go precisely as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Day of the Wolves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VampireNaomi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampireNaomi/gifts).



_Berlin, Prussia. June 1886_.

There were times when His Serene Highness The Prince of Bismarck found his underlings' choice of terms annoying. Of course they would more often than not be deferential to the excess, which was something he didn't necessarily mind: deference was the least a man in his position was to expect, after all. But sometimes that deference bordered into aggravating spinelessness, to the point they wouldn't bring themselves to use the proper terms while addressing him.

“Baron von Glower asks for audience,” they had said, which had almost made Bismarck scoff aloud. Von Glower, _asking_ for audience? Hah, unlikely; considering that was going on in Bavaria in that very same moment, Bismarck was absolutely certain that the man was _demanding_ for audience... and that he wouldn't accept a no as an answer.

But he had shared none of those thoughts with his underlings. He seldom shared most of his thoughts with anyone. “Do let him through,” was all he said. Once they left he sat at his desk, folded his hands and waited.

Much as he had expected, Rudolf von Glower – whose name had once been Paul Gowden, and God knew what he was called before then – didn't bother to have his arrival announced: he walked in, apparently calm... too calm, and with rigid control. Bismarck knew at once he wasn't at all calm as he wanted to appear; and then again, why should he be? Murmurs of was about to happen to King Ludwig of Bavaria had likely reached him already, and he was obviously upset.

“Baron,” Bismarck greeted him, gesturing for him to take a seat on the other side of his desk. “What do I owe the pleasure?”

Von Glower sat stiffly. “I'm under the impression,” he spoke quietly, “that you know very well. Unless, of course, what reached my ears was is untrue.”

Bismarck tilted his head on one side. “And what is it, pray tell, that reached your ears?” he asked. Truth to be told, he sometimes wondered just how could that man know everything, or almost. The plot of the Bavarian ministers against their king was certainly not something for everyone's ears, let alone now that the trap had yet to be sprung.

“That King Ludwig's own family and the Bavarian ministers are planning on deeming him unable to rule and lock him away,” he said in a tight voice. “Is it true?”

Bismarck saw no point in denying it. “Yes, it is. A report to prove the King's mental illness is soon to be handed over by several physicians. Dr. Gudden, Dr. Hagen, Dr. Hub--” Bismarck began, only to be cut off by a bang: Baron von Glower had stood abruptly, knocking down his chair.

“Ludwig is not insane!” he snapped. He was pale, his voice quivering with anger. Birmarck looked at him curiously; it was very, very rare to see that man losing control to any degree. He was usually so much harder to read... which was the main reason why he had been chosen to persuade King Ludwig to sign the treaty years before.

“I never said he is,” he finally said. “I don't think so, either. But it certainly _is_ what the report will read.”

“And I presume,” von Glower said in a tight voice, his eyes positively livid, “that none of those physicians has ever once examined him.”

“I assume so as well.”

“This is ludicrous!

“Oh, it is. As I already told Count Lerchenfreld, an alienist for eliminating a king leaves me doubtful; it gives the impression that the Bavarian ministers are resorting to this because they are unable to stand their ground otherwise. But whatever we may think about it, this seems the way they have decided to get him out of the way. If you ask to me, it's better than murder.”

Baron von Glower didn't seem to agree. “This _is_ murder,” he said darkly. “This _will_ kill him, whether they will it or not. If they lock him into some mental facility, then...” he paused and fell silent, but Bismarck knew exactly what he was thinking: if that happened, then the king's secret wouldn't stay a secret for much longer. And, even without that, Ludwig did seem the kind of man to prefer death over the humiliation of being buried alive into a mental institution.

Slowly, Bismarck nodded. “Yes, I understand. The next night of full moon would certainly be... interesting.”

Von Glower's shoulders slumped, his head lowering. Locks of black hair hid his face from view. “He'd sooner die than subject himself to that. If only I hadn't bitten him,” he said mournfully.

“He had to be out of the way, Gow-- von Glower. You and I both know that,” Bismarck stated matter-of-factly. “I regret it had to come to it; when you convinced him to sign the treaty I hoped it would be the end of everything. But he had second thoughts, didn't he? And you couldn't convince him otherwise again. We couldn't let all our hard work be destroyed for the whims of one more romantic than practical. It was either that, or killing him. You gave him a chance,” he added, his voice now quieter, “a chance to just leave with you. He didn't take it, back then. But perhaps he will now.”

That caused von Glower to look up at him. “Now?” he repeated, as though trying out a foreign word.

“Now,” Bismarck repeated. “He's at Neuschwanstein, unaware of what's going, and his ministers don't yet have the physicians' report on him. Most importantly, they don't have him in custody yet. That will certainly take a few days, but I'm certain that nothing the king could possibly do will stop it; his time as a ruler is at its end. But if you move now, and warn him, he may accept to come with you. It would certainly be a better fate than being locked up like his brother before him, wouldn't you say?”

Von Glower clenched his jaw. “He despises me now,” he said. “He will not accept--”

“Is that a reason not to even try?”

There was a moment of silence, both men staring at each other. Then von Glower turned and marched out of the room, and Bismarck found it enough of an answer; he wasn't surprised to learn, only hours later, that Baron von Glower had taken the fastest horse in his stables and left without a word to anyone.

 

* * *

 

The next several days would stay a blur in von Glower's mind: a blur of towns and forests and roads and paths he would ride past as fast as a horse could possibly run, day and night, not even stopping to eat or sleep, exhausting one horse after the other.

The brief pauses when he would stop by a town to leave an exhausted horse to buy a well-rested one were the only moments he could ask around or listen for news, and nothing of the little he heard – the government had certainly tried its best to keep word of what was going on from being spread – was reassuring.

Several delegates had tried to take the King from Neuschwanstein the previous night, it was said, and had only given up because the castle's gates had stayed closed and the people from Füssen and Schwangau had collected in front of the castle to stop them. More informed people claimed that the King had sent a proclamation to the people of Bavaria, but that somehow the telegrams had been lost and the only newspaper that had published the statement had already been seized by the government.

None of it was unexpected, but it was still alarming: the situation was progressing fast, and the stall wouldn't last long. They were determined to seize Ludwig, and they would. It was only a matter of time, perhaps hours... and von Glower was still far, still _too far_.

He had just stopped near Munich to get a new horse when the news reached him: the King had left the castle along with several other men in the early morning, on a carriage that was said to be headed to Berg Castle.

He was too late, and for a moment, only a moment, he fell in despair. Still, he clung to the thought that perhaps he was still on time to reach him, to free him, to convince him to come away with him. They would have to let him out at some point, after all, and once they did... what were a few guards to the Black Wolf? Perhaps being too late was a blessing in disguise: after tasting briefly what the rest of his life threatened to be like, wouldn't Ludwig be more likely to accept joining him?

He hoped he would, but he couldn't be sure. Still, he needed to try – so he took his horse and rode as fast as he could to Starnberg Lake.

It was afternoon by the time he made it to Berg. He left his horse some good distance away, sneaked into the castle park and, after shedding his clothes and hiding them under a rock, he Changed: his beastly hide would serve him far better should he have to attack and kill, he believed, and the sharper senses would certainly be of help. He had no doubt that, as soon as he was granted permission for a walk, Ludwig would ask to walk along the lake's shore: he had loved walking there, he recalled.

So the black wolf settled among the shadows of the trees, and _waited_.

It was a not too long time later – its human part would have known it was a two hours wait, but the beast would not know how to measure time – when voices and the sound of steps reached its sensitive ears.

_Two humans. Just two._

That struck the beast as odd, and caused it to look at the path. There they were – two humans, neither armed. Its ears had not deceived the beast. Of those two humans one was unknown to the black wolf, but the other one... oh, the other one was someone it knew, someone neither part of it – human and beast – could possibly not recognize.

 _Ludwig_.

The black wolf's gaze shifted from him to the other human, then the beast licked its lips before moving forward, stalking them silently while hidden by the thick vegetation and growing shadows of the late afternoon. It watched and followed as the two humans kept walking down the path leading all the way around the lake. The smaller human—  
 _prey_  
—kept talking and talking, words whose meaning the thing in the woods didn't bother to try understanding, while Ludwig—  
 _mate companion friend love please join me please please please_  
—stayed silent and just kept walking. Neither seemed to have the slightest idea the beast was there, so very close, and they were heading exactly where the beast had hoped they would – to a part where the path narrowed forcing them to step so very, very close to the trees.

The black wolf licked its lips once more and went ahead to hide right there, and _waited_. In a matter of minutes they would step right past it and it would be ready to spring in action, ready to leap on the small noisy human and crush its windpipe in its jaws before he could even make a sound or cry for help. Then it would Change, and let its human part do the rest to convince Ludwig to join him, to leave, to be _his_.

_Please, Ludwig._

The noisy man was almost there now, almost _there_. The beast held back a snarl and crouched lower, all its muscles tense and ready for the leap. Only a couple more steps, just a couple more steps.

Those two steps never happened.

“Your Majesty, in God’s name!”

The beast recoiled at the sudden cry, and was startled to realize that the man was now running towards the lake, crying out for help. Then its gaze went further, and the black wolf realized what had alarmed the noisy man that much: Ludwig had started walking towards the lake and then into it while its attention was focused on the other human, and water was reaching his belly already.

Water. There was something about water that the beast ought to recall, something its human part knew. Water... water...

_A true werewolf can be killed only by destroying his or her brayn or herte. Also, death by elementales: Fire, Earth, Water, Ayr, is sayd to be effectyf._

_Death by elements._   
_Water._   
_“He'd sooner die than subject himself to that.”_   
_He'd sooner die._   
_Ludwig._   
_Sooner die._   
_Water._   
_Death by elements._   
_“...you shouldn't be asking, Ludwig, you shouldn't be thinking...”_   
_“...the truth, Louis, tell me the truth...”_   
_Death by elements._   
_He'd sooner die._   
_Water._   
_Die._   
_WATER._

_NO!_

With no further thought, if _thought_ was an appropriate word for what what went through its mind, the black wolf leapt out of the woods, onto the path, threw back its head and _howled_.

The howl was answered by two cries: one of fear from the noisy human, and one of terror and revulsion and desperate denial from Ludwig. They both were expected, but one of them had to be silenced – one of them had to be silenced _now_.

The black wolf's flaming eyes found the small human's, and the man opened his mouth to scream again, tried to turn to run away – but he was slow, like all humans, so very _slow_. It took the beast only a leap to send the man sprawling face first on the ground, and only one bite to snap his neck. The men's cries stopped, then, and he fell still, the smell and taste of death mixing with that of blood.

But Ludwig's screams were not silenced: they were simply changing into snarls and howls, loud enough to almost completely hide the sound of splashing water and ripping fabric. Nothing of that was unexpected for the black wolf: it knew, from his human knowledge, that Ludwig would not be able to resist the pull of the Change upon hearing a howl – just like its own human half couldn't. When the beast turned it was to see another beast standing in the water where a human had been, a silvery grey wolf with golden eyes; but it knew it was still him, it was—  
 _my companion my mate my love please don't do it please join me we can truly be one please join me please_  
—Ludwig.

The black wolf took a step forward, and permitted itself a soothing whine, but that was only met with a thundering growl as the other beast's lips curled to show white, sharp fangs. And then those formidable jaws snapped and the silver wolf flew at him, the sound of splashing water barely covered by its snarl; the black beast had barely the time to brace itself before the silver one was on him, and instant later they were locked in a vicious struggle.

There were growls and clawing and snapping jaws, fur and blood flying, but neither beast injured the other seriously: the silver one was too inexperienced when it came to fighting in its beastly form, and the black one held back. In its mind was the idea, very much human, that hurting the other would only hurt it in return; so it kept meeting blow for blow, waiting for the silver wolf to tire out so that it could be overpowered.

_And then we'll Change and he'll listen he'll have to listen please beloved listen to me stop this please._

It seemed to be working at first: the silver wolf was starting to tire out, its movements growing slower and less vicious, the attempts at fastening its jaws around the black one's throat lessening. Perhaps the black beast would have succeeded, perhaps it could have manage to overpower the other, make it Change back and _listen_ – but before any of that could happen there were shouts, the sound of boots pounding the gravel, and the loud bang of a gunshot.

_Humans._

_Danger._

The two beasts immediately broke apart and turned, snarling and with blood running down the gashes on their muzzles, to face the upcoming danger. Several humans were running towards them, all of them dressed the same way – had the black wolf chosen to, it would have recognized those as uniforms – and all of them carried weapons that its human half knew well. So when they stopped some distance away, shouting and pointing those weapons at them, the black wolf knew what it had to do.

_Run._

And run it did, slamming against the silver wolf's side as it went to get it to _move_. The other beast didn't seem to need any further prompting, and the next moment it ran beside the black beast, heading to the woods surrounding the lake. They only needed to get there, the black wolf knew, get in the woods where they wouldn't dare to follow so that they could escape. And the trees were close, so very close, just a leap awa--

The loud bang of several rifles firing filled the air, and the world seemed to explode in pain; the black wolf fell with a snarl, its right side afire, while the silver beast ran past it and into the safety of the woods. There were more shouts, and the black wolf knew it had to get up, had to make it to the woods and flee, for death was all those humans had in store for it.

Its own survival at stake, the beast forgot even the pain: it forced itself back on its paws and ran into the woods just as more shots rang out, hitting several trees and causing splinters to fly around – but this time nothing hit the black wolf, and as it had expected none of the humans followed. They had to be all too afraid to pursue it in the woods, where the black wolf was at home and aware of everything while they could as well be blind, deaf and dumb. At least for a time, the beast could be allowed to rest.

And it did need rest: it had been wounded before, but never so severely. The pain in its side was horrible and worsening with every move, to the point that soon enough the black wolf could no longer force itself to move fast. Hide, its instinct told it, while another part of its brain, its _human_ part, wanted to keep looking for the silver wolf, follow its trail and find it.

But in the end instinct was stronger, as was the pain. Soon enough the beast was hiding under a tree's jutting roots, to rest and allow the wounds to heal, and its grip on its mind slipped away, letting its human part in control again. Fur retreated, leaving behind skin, the muzzle turning back into a face and muscles and bone and sinew reshaping themselves until Baron Rudolf von Glower lay, barely conscious and naked, where the black wolf had been.

Ludwig, von Glower thought, making an effort to keep his eyes open. Where was he? Had he escaped? Was he still around there somewhere? God, he hoped he had escaped; fear wouldn't keep the guards out of the woods forever, and when they were done searching for the King around the lake they certainly would start looking for him in the woods. And if they came across him there was no doubt in his mind that they would shoot him; a bullet in the brain or the heart, von Glower thought grimly, and he would die. How he wished to be able to get up now, to look for him and take him away before that could happen! But he was wounded and weak, too weak, so he could only hope he would manage to stay hidden until he had healed enough to go after him. By then perhaps he'd be back in his human form, too, and willing to listen to him, willing to--

_Snap._

The sound of a twig snapping, faint but unmistakable, caused von Glower to open his eyes again – and the first thing he saw, only a few steps from him, where huge clawed paws. His mind suddenly filled with both dread and hope, von Glower looked up to see the silver wolf standing over him, its ears flattened against a huge skull and lips curled in a silent snarl. Bloody gashes were already starting to heal on its muzzle, and its sharp fangs glistened with saliva; von Glower was suddenly very, very much aware of how easily Ludwig could kill him now.

Still, the silver wolf had not yet attacked him, and he dared to _hope_.

“Ludwig,” von Glower managed to speak, painfully lifting himself on his knees. The beast's silent snarl didn't stay so silent then, the growl now perfectly audible, but it still didn't move, and von Glower still hoped. “I know you can understand me. I am sorry it has come to this, I truly am. I would have never wanted... I didn't imagine, Ludwig. You know that. I do deserve your hate, but _you_ don't deserve being locked up here for the rest of your life. Because that's what they want, you must know it. Please, come with me. We can flee together, we--” he trailed off when the beast snarled again, this time louder, the hair on its neck standing in spiky ridges. There was hatred in those eyes, hatred and bloodlust.

The first stab of actual fear caused von Glower to swallow; Ludwig knew, he _had_ to know, that by killing his Alpha he would be forever rid of the curse. He was starting to see his end in those eyes of molten gold, so different from Ludwig's own blue ones, but he was desperate enough to try again; his mind couldn't grasp the idea that the same man who had whispered poetry and promises of love in his ear more times than he could remember may be about to end his life.

“Ludwig, I beg of you,” von Glower said weakly. “I have come to help you.”

That was the wrong thing to say: von Glower could tell as much the moment the words left him, for the low snarl turned into a thundering growl. He could easily guess exactly what was going on through that mind, the mind of a beast and a man at the same time, a mind that had never truly been at peace and that, he could now tell, would never be again as long as von Glower himself lived.

_You have helped me enough._

A trembling breath left von Glower, and when he spoke again his voice was weaker than it had ever been, but there was a new resolve in it all the same. If the price for Ludwig's peace of mind was his death, so be it. Let him kill him, he thought, let him be freed of the curse. It would not give him back his throne, nor the life he used to have, but perhaps it would finally give him some of the peace he deserved.

“Finish this, then, and take back what I stole,” he said, and tilted up his head to expose his throat. He closed his eyes and felt something wet run down his cheeks. “Please, forgive me,” he murmured, “I love you still.”

Whether the silver wolf heard or understood his final words von Glower would never know, for the next moment powerful jaws closed on his exposed throat, sharp fangs biting through skin and muscle and sinew, crushing his windpipe and cutting off the air supply to his brain. When the beast yanked its head back, tearing out a great part of his throat and staining the grass beneath them crimson, Baron von Glower – Louis, Paul Gowden, Rudolf von Ralick, the Black Wolf – was no more.

And the curse was gone with him.

 

* * *

 

The pain of Changing back was worse than it had ever been.

Ludwig had been through it many times, and while the pain had never truly dulled he had learned, in time, to endure it without screaming. And he didn't scream this time, either, but it took all of his willpower not to: his whole body felt like it was on fire, the pain as bone and sinew and muscle _shifted_ and changed shape and direction. By the time the pain began fading he was wishing for death to claim him at long last.

But it didn't: the pain slowly faded and then vanished, and not only he was alive – he was once again _himself_.

Slowly, very slowly, Ludwig – King of Bavaria, Duke of Franconia and in Swabia, Count Palatine of the Rhine – uncurled from the fetal position he had instinctively taken during the Change and lifted himself to his knees. He drew in a deep breath and stared down at his hands; they looked no different than usual, but this time there was the hope that they never again _would_.

For the first time in a long, long time, the king's face opened in a true smile. It was over, he thought in wonder. He was free – _free_! For a moment he almost laughed in delight, his heart wonderfully light. Never again he would have to suffer the torment of the cursed, never again he would feel the pain of the Change, never again he would have to fear his secret to be found! Never again he would feel ashamed of even showing his face, unworthy of even the sunlight's caress! The curse was broken, it _had_ to be, for now that he had killed--

All his relief, all the delight that had filled him seemed to promptly vanish when the realization, the memory of what had happened filling his mind with dread.

Louis, kneeling in front of him, begging for him to listen.

Louis, tilting back his head and exposing his throat to him.

Louis,whispering that he loved him still before he... before...

_All tissues in his throat had yielded so easily and his windpipe had been crushed and there was blood everywhere, spilling into the beast's maw and running down its muzzle, so much blood, hot and sticky and--_

_NO!_

All of a sudden horribly aware of the metallic tang of blood still lingering in his mouth, Ludwig frantically looked around to look for him, to look for Louis. He didn't have to look far: von Glower—  
 _Louis_  
—lay on the forest ground only a few feet from him, absolutely still. He was on his back, unseeing blue eyes staring up to the trees above them; a great, ragged bloody hole was where his throat had been. His arms and legs stuck out at odd angles, like the limbs of a discarded mannequin, with none of the grace he had had in life. And yet he was beautiful still, even in death; beautiful as Sigfried must have been, or Lohengrin. He remembered thinking of them back when he had first seen him, during a performance of Lohengrin in the Residenztheater. It felt like another lifetime.

“Louis.”

Ludwig barely even realized he had spoken; his voice sounded alien to his own ears. He dragged himself closer to von Glower's body, moving as though in a dream, and reached to cradle the still warm body in his arms, uncaring of the blood. The man's head rested against his chest, his dead eyes still staring into the distance. It was painful to see those eyes – eyes that had been filled with intelligence and wit and passion and energy – so glassy and empty; even more painful than looking at the ragged hole his throat was.

But what cut deepest was seeing the tears that still filled them, and those that had fallen down his face before Ludwig himself tore his throat out... while he did absolutely nothing to stop him.Ludwig's hand shook as he reached to cup the dead man's cheek, feeling the wetness of tears beneath his fingers.

 _Finish this,_ he had said, _and take back what I stole._

_Please, forgive me. I love you still._

“Louis...”

And then Ludwig said nothing more for a long time, the grief that now overcame him too great for words. How quickly had joy turned into sorrow! He wept, his own tears falling on von Glower's pale skin, his arms holding him close as all warmth faded from his body. He had loved him, _still_ loved him, so much that he could never bring himself to utter a word and have him killed directly. And he had been happy with him for a long time, happier than he had thought a man had any right to be in that miserable world; he ought to have known such happiness could not last.

Once the mask was down, once he knew the truth, he had told himself over and over that it had all been pretence from Louis' part, that none of it was real. But now he knew he had never fully believed it; he couldn't bring itself to believe it even now, no matter how much he wished he _could_. And now he wished he could take back what the Beast had done, what _he_ had done in his fury and savagery; breathe life back to him and speak to him one more time. He wished he could hear his voice again, wished he could truly _listen_ this time – but it was far too late for that. For anything.

_Please, forgive me. I love you still._

“I forgive you,” Ludwig choked out through tears, resting his forehead on von Glower's, “and I love you still.”

Those were the last words King Ludwig of Bavaria, Duke of Franconia and in Swabia, Count Palatine of the Rhine, would ever speak. When he finally let go of von Glower's cooling corpse and rose his mind was ravaged, gone. The man he had been was dead: dead along with his Louis, dead along with the Beast, dead as dead can be.

They found him hours later, wandering on the lake's shore, staring at the water with longing but making no move to get in it. They wrapped him in a cloak and said something on how worried they were, asked questions on what had happened, where he had been and whether he was hurt or not, but Ludwig replied to none of that: his gaze stayed unfocused, and his only response to anything was shaking his head in silence. Even when they found von Glower's naked body in the woods, mauled by a beast, he said nothing to put their questions to rest; he didn't speak to answer to any of their questions that day, nor he would ever speak again.

Soon enough they would give up on trying to get any answer out of him, assuming that something he had seen that day – the day of the wolves, as some would refer to it – had taken from him any sanity he had once retained. In the end they stopped even remarking the change: seeing the king sitting near the window the whole day, staring in complete silence outside and not once uttering a word, became simply the new normal. They grew used to it, as they grew used to his silence, to his slowed movements, to the lack of any expression on his face no matter the circumstances; for the rest of his long life King Ludwig II of Bavaria would never again speak, never again write, smile or weep or show any emotion at all. Even the king's once beloved Wagner music elicited no response from him.

That was why, when some servants found him dead in his bed one morning – many, many years after the day of the wolves – the greatest surprise was not the old monarch's death: what would never leave their mind was the small, peaceful smile curling his pale lips.

The first and only most of them had ever seen on him.


End file.
